Here comes the candle
by Mizu-Tenshi
Summary: Due to financial difficulties, England becomes the 51st state of America yet neither are happy with the merger forced upon them. Between the need for forgiveness and the search for happiness the irreparable happens. USxUK *warning:death
1. Here comes the candle

This was written a looong time ago for the kink meme request about Arthur becoming the 51st state. It was on my lj but I thought I'd repost it here. Alfred's side will be up soon.

* * *

Here comes the candle

XX

"_Oranges and Lemons say the bells of St Clemens_

_You owe me five farthings say the bells of St Martins."_

Sunlight was a strange thing. The pale grey light washed over the now empty room, which had once been Arthur's living room, darkening the shadows on the walls, breathing pathetic warmth that chilled him to the bone.

His back curled against the wall, head tilting against the double-glazed windows so that his forehead felt the frosty glass burning into his skin. His reflection breathed out wisps of ghosts, obscuring him from view until he wiped the window panes with a finger. Always a lethargic sense of unease prompted him to rub away the fogging windows until he could see himself again.

He had not disappeared yet, had he? If he did not check often perhaps his face would melt off like cake-icing in the summer sun, like the painted smiles on clowns melting into frowns.

He pushed his leg up onto the window seat and tapped his fingers against his kneecap, humming 'Oranges and Lemons' to pave over the voices on the radio and the white noise that fills the gaping room with an intermittent buzz.

"_When will you pay me? say the bells of Old Bailey_

_When I am rich say the bells of Shoreditch."_

"_Unlike fellow nations, unable to recover from the economic downturn, the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland has announced not a union, but a merger with the United States of America_," the radio droned with news that Arthur has known for a long time. There was nothing more depressing than old news.

He turned the dial, tuning in to another station and heard the same thing; the same story told with a different spin.

"_A shock that has come to everyone but to help their long-term allies in this crisis the United States has offered to pay Britain's national debt in return for -_ "

"_The US government has announced that Britain will become the 51__st__ state of America!"_

Arthur smiled condescendingly at the radio. Little did the poor creature know that the words it was spewing from its dusty speaker would be a bombshell dropped on the heads of the unsuspecting public.

If the radio had a mouth it would have smiled back. Because they were the same. Both Arthur and the radio were just stupid things that have no choice but to do as they are told.

He turned the station; more news.

"_Surprisingly, ex-Brits have been told that they will be issued a British-American passport. The National healthcare, transport and education system will also remain untouched but the Pound, the government and, of course, the monarchy will all have to go._"

His poor Queen. What would she do when they repossess her Corgis? They were the only living things in the world to still love her since her children had failed in that department. Would they chase the ravens from the castle and watch it crumble? At least he was not like Francis. At least he was not taking their heads as well.

Arthur turned to the music stations but it was no good; they had switched to the news as well. He should have just turned off the radio, better yet, smashed it, but he was too masochistic for that. The 1970s have given him a taste for pain.

"_There it is. This new flag will go up tomorrow at midnight. You can see the stars and stripes as usual and, in the middle of the blue, the crowning star, the 51__st__ state of America. Although whether this six-point star will be one of glory or shame remains to be seen, nevertheless we must welcome the 51__st__ state of -_ "

Why was it everywhere?

"_The 51__st__ state of America!_"

" – _Will become the 51__st__ state of America. God bless America!"_

"_Announced.....the new 51__st__ state of America._"

The street vendors were already selling the flags. Or anti-flags. Depending on which side of the fence you fell.

"_I think it's a disgrace!"_ A man with a thick Northern accent was lecturing the mic. _"We're not America, we're British!"_

Ah, Arthur thought, a royalist, wasn't that what they were calling them now? Though all he had to do was turn the station to a Liberal and he knew he would hear the exact opposite.

"_This can only be a good thing_," a young woman was explaining on the other side, "_and once we see the improvements American money will bring, the objections will die._"

The bell to the front door rung profusely. Jolted out of his reverie, Arthur sprung up to answer it. He passed the empty rooms and the bare corridor as he made his way to the front, feeling the sting as paintings and pieces of precious china that once decorated his home had disappeared to be sold to wealthy collectors. Only his nearest and dearest possessions remained in a double suitcase to be shipped to his new home.

"Arthur!"

Alfred's bright face beamed at him with more radiance and warmth than the pathetic winter sun. He looked healthier than he had ever been before; his skin seemed to exude wealth and power, all the things that Arthur currently lacked.

"Alfred?" Arthur peered at him through eyes too used to the gloom.

Alfred's smile wobbled slightly. Evidently he had not forgotten that their previous meeting had ended on less than cordial terms. Even Arthur grimaced in remembrance. He had been much angrier then than he was now, back when the discussion about the merger had been just that; a discussion.

"Are you ready? Let me take that for you," he grabbed Arthur's suit case before he could protest, dragging it to the black cab waiting by the curb.

Arthur wordlessly followed after him. He kept his eyes focused on his weak shadow proceeding ahead of him as if it was dragging him towards the inevitable future. He did not dare glance at Alfred; he knew that if he did the image of his broad back, powerful and confident, would resentfully burn itself into his brain for eternity.

He did not want to hate Alfred just yet.

He did not want to hate him and yet he felt a thousand bitter thoughts whirl within him, like a storm kept locked inside bottle; raging against glass until it shatters.

Inside the car, black walls surrounding them, caving in on them even, cushioned leather and seatbelts that smell like petrol, they sat on opposite ends. Alfred began to talk about his plans – _their_ plans - for the future whilst Arthur tried not to grimace. The F word again.

He wondered if Alfred ever felt that there was something wrong with this picture...but probably not. He was talking too much, chatting too avidly to notice Arthur's unease.

"I know you've been having your reservations and stuff but I've had the house extended and the stuff you sent ahead has already arrived. I decorated the new rooms to your taste. You'll love it, trust me!"

A lump of indignation welled up in Arthur's throat, threatening to strangle him. He coughed and swallowed it down to prevent himself from tearing at Alfred. It was not his fault, not really, but he could not help but resent him for taking charge, for acting as if he already owned him.

Arthur turned his head away. He was not really looking out of the window so much as refusing to look at Alfred. The car whizzed past tree-lined streets in a green-grey blur, or perhaps it was the streets that were passing him, moving forward, leaving him behind.

He began to hum.

"What's that?" Alfred asked.

"Nothing," Arthur shrugged. "Just a song that I heard a long time ago."

XX

Wrapped in America's new flag, the stars and stripes soaked into his skin. The imprint was like a tattoo colouring his soul and he felt naked despite his uniform and the flag with fifty-one stars wrapped like a cape across his shoulders.

The gazes of both British and American officials burnt him, their eyes crawled across his skin, leaving trails of hope and anger stamped onto his lungs, his gut, his heart.

From the corner of his eye Arthur could see the royal family standing with his prime minister. When this was over, they would have to start looking for new day jobs.

Alfred stood in front of him, slightly higher than Arthur on the steps leading up the podium where his president stood tall and proud, beaming from ear to ear. Alfred was not smiling but he did not look grim either and Arthur wanted to reach out his hand and press it against Alfred's heart just to check how it beat.

"Arthur Kirkland, we welcome you as the 51st state of America. God bless America!" the president announced and everyone clapped – sincerely or otherwise.

Arthur took Alfred's hand as he knelt, kissing it like a knight swearing fealty. He had done it a thousand times before to all his previous reigning monarchs, even to the odd prime minister if he greatly respected him – though Churchill had been the last.

Yet this was not his King, this was Alfred. This was not his prime minister, but, in a way, it was his boss-to-be.

His fingers tightened around Alfred's hand, his nails leaving faint crescent imprints in his skin.

"...God bless America."

XX

"_Orange and lemons sing the bells of St Clemens_

_You owe me five farthings say the bells of St Martins._"

Would that be dollars now? You owe me five dollars. It did not have the same ring. In fact, it was all wrong.

The dimensions of Alfred's apartment were all wrong. His kitchen was too long and too wide, let in too much sunlight, smelt too strongly of coffee; felt too much like a stranger's kitchen. The ceiling above the corridor was too high, the lounge was too chic, there was too much leather. Everywhere Arthur looked it was all wrong.

He wanted his house back. He wanted the garden gate with its creaky hinges, he wanted his Union Jack bed covers and towels organised red, white, blue. He wanted his rose and strawberry bushes and his cheerful fireplace that crackled on dreary winter days when the sky was overcast and the clouds were drizzling. He wanted to have tea boiled in his own kettle, stirred with his own spoon, and sipped in his periwinkle blue teacups.

He wanted everything that had been lost.

It was selfish, and he knew that, but that knowledge did not abate his yearning for home.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder to where Alfred was standing, adjusting a pinstripe tie in front of a full-length mirror. He was humming stars and stripes forever as he struggled to knot it and Arthur did his best not to wince at the sound, once sweet and melodious, now grating his ears.

He wondered if Alfred suspected his unhappy thoughts; he probably did, Alfred was an idiot but he was not _that_ much of an idiot. Perhaps, Arthur thought, he should buy himself a mirror and practice smiling.

Noticing Arthur's gaze, Alfred flashed him a brilliant smile. "Arthur, I'm going to the world meeting now, alright? If you need anything - "

"Oh no, I'll be fine, just fine," Arthur muttered tersely, hiding his sneer behind a teacup. Even the tea was wrong.

Unfortunately, Alfred was not oblivious enough to miss the derision lacing Arthur's words. His smile transformed into an annoyed frown, one which he directed straight towards him.

"Arthur..."

"Alfred?" Arthur's smile did not reach his eyes.

Two long strides took him to where Arthur sat; slamming the palm of his hand in front of him with such force that it shook the sleeping cutlery.

"What is your problem?" he shouted, "You agreed to this!"

"My problem?" Arthur seethed, rising to his feet in anger. He forgot about reconciling himself to his position, he forgot about buying himself a mirror, he forgot about smiling. The glass was broken and storm was out. "My problem is you and your astounding arrogance! If you had proposed a union I might have accepted it with some grace but this? A merger? I can't even go outside without wanting to bury my head in shame!"

"I told you that my bosses would only accept a merger!"

"And you love it, don't you? I see that the American empire is nice and healthy! Look!" he threw his hand across a poster of the world hanging in Alfred's study, most of Europe painted green but for one small island of dark blue; the same colour as America. "Parts of America are even in Europe now! You must feel so proud! Keep this up and you won't need your army of McDonalds and fast food fighters armed with French fries and artery-busting burgers to take over the world!"

Alfred's fists clenched, nails biting into skin, digging into pink flesh until he almost drew blood.

"You're just bitter even though it was your stupidity that got you into this recession mess in the first place!"

"Don't blame this on me!"

"Do you think I wanted this to happen to you?" Alfred ripped the map from the wall, shredding it in his fury. "Don't take out all your unhappiness on me when I haven't done anything wrong!"

"But you're loving it, aren't you?" Arthur hissed, staring accusingly at Alfred's indignant expression.

A mixture of hurt and anger flashed across Alfred's face before it became hard. Arthur had almost forgotten how scary he could be when enraged.

"You would have died if not for me! You would have passed away just like your brothers! I saved you!"

"Better to die with honour than to be a poodle to America!"

"Then die!" Alfred stormed towards the door, knuckles white under the pressure of his grip. "See if I care!" he shouted before slamming the door shut.

XX

Arthur was staring at the mirror hanging on his – Alfred's – bathroom wall. He pressed the tips of his fingers to the corners of his mouth and pulled them up.

Look, a smile.

As he let his hands drop so did his smile. It was a frown now.

He tried again.

...Shit.

But Alfred was gone, and had been gone for hours now, perhaps days. Who knew how long these meetings took? Arthur was sure that he had forgotten, and there was nothing to do in Alfred's house.

Normally he would have had little free time between legislation and politics and diplomacy and those heaps and heaps of paperwork usually waiting for him. Those precious minutes he had to himself Arthur would spend tending the garden, or sewing, or perhaps even getting stone drunk with Francis.

There was nothing to do here. Even going through that pile of paper work would have been a blissful distraction from the world around him, the world that had forgotten him.

He stared at the flower imprints on the bathroom tiles, at the black smudge in the corner of the peach towel on the rack, at the chips in the white enamel sink.

Nothing to do. There was nothing to do.

He could hear the kitchen clock ticking.

Nothing to do.

He counted the steps as he went downstairs. There were twelve. Funny, he was sure that there had been thirteen. He went up again, counting them carefully as he did. Eleven. He went down again, counting them even more carefully. Thirteen.

Yes, there were thirteen steps after all. Arthur walked up and counted them again just to be sure. Thirteen again. Yes, there were definitely thirteen steps. He was glad that he had discovered that at least.

Now what should he do? There was nothing to do. Nothing to do.

Nothing...to do...

XX

In the evening Alfred returned to his house. Arthur had been counting the crinkles on the wallpaper of his room, hoping and hating himself for hoping that Alfred would return.

He despised this kind of dependency. When he closed his eyes and thought of his days of former glory, he just knew that other nations must be sniggering at him for it. How could he go outside, how could he meet the others in the state that he was in now? No, it was better to stay inside where the shame and humiliation came only from his own rebukes.

Alfred looked oddly penitent when he returned; poking his head around the door of Arthur's newly furnished bedroom before creeping in.

Arthur swung his legs over the double bed, ready to rise to his feet.

"Alfred, I - "

"Look, I'm sorry okay!" Alfred's tone hardly sounded apologetic but, from the way he avoided Arthur's gaze, there was a distinct sense of shame that had pitted his sense of justice and pride against each other. It seemed justice had won in the end and now he was apologising.

Well, miracles were called miracles because they had a chance of occurring.

Loosening his tie, Alfred flung it over his shoulder, and then promptly flung himself onto Arthur's bed before swivelling around so that he still did not have to look Arthur in the face.

"I didn't mean it when I told you to die," his voice came grudgingly, forced out his throat like a petulant child who knew but hated to admit their mistake. "I...don't really want you to die," he ended with a whisper, but it was sincere.

Whatever Arthur had been planning to say disappeared. Was there nothing to say? He wanted to apologise too but he also wanted to wrap his fingers around Alfred's neck and break his windpipe. He wanted to cry but he wanted to show Alfred that he was still strong. He wanted to kill him and become a nation again but he wanted to place his hand against that soft blond hair and pretend that all was right with the world.

Arthur did not speak. It was too hard. The world was choking him. Alfred was crushing him. The knowledge of his own weakness, of his pathetic figure reflected in the windows pierced him too keenly.

He turned around as well, resting against Alfred, back to back so that neither one had to look at each other. Arthur thought he felt the guilt emitted from Alfred radiating into him. He hated himself for not realising sooner, for only thinking about his own situation and not the sense of responsibility Alfred might have been feeling, the pressure of having another state, the misplaced guilt for what had happened, the desperate hope for the future...

"I hate you. Even though it's not your fault, I really, really hate you."

Arthur felt Alfred's back stiffen as he spoke. A moment later, he felt Alfred relaxing again. He wondered what kind of expression he was wearing but he did not dare turn around and look.

"...That's fine," Alfred spoke, fragile words shaking as they were released into the air.

Arthur drew his legs up to his chest. The silence was closing in too fast; its fingers were dark and cold, leaving behind a frost that constricted his lungs

"I mean it. I hate you."

Alfred's back breathed a hefty sigh "Then hate me, Arthur. Just don't die."

And it seemed as if eternity had been compressed into a single room constructed for the specific purpose of letting them say nothing at all. The silence would break the wings of a butterfly or rend the world apart.

They sat back pressed against back, trying to find each other in the darkness.

XX

They gave him work as a state. 'They' being the formless, nameless spectres Arthur never saw or had any contact with other than through Alfred. The workload itself was nothing compared to that of a nation but it helped keep the boredom at bay on those multiple occasions when Alfred was gone.

The seasons passed as usual. The world cruelly continued its passage through time, though to Arthur it seemed as if he were a hapless spectator to its journey rather than a participant struggling against the flow.

"How was the meeting?"

"Boring," Alfred shrugged, draping his coat over the side of the table.

Arthur did not smile but he did not feel the urge to strangle Alfred as he would have previously done.

"I made you dinner," he said. "Since you've been having nothing but burgers lately, it's all vegetarian. Eat it."

XX

"Yo, Arthur!"

"What?" Arthur looked up irritably at a beaming Alfred. After countless years of sharing the same breathing space, he had long since learnt that Alfred's happiness was directly proportional to the size of his headache.

Currently, Alfred was standing with his fifty-one star flag draped over his hand, covering something suspicious.

Amused by the tiniest hint of curiosity in Arthur's eyes, Alfred gripped the flag with his other hand and whipped it off with a flourish.

"A present! I figured you might get lonely when I'm not around!" he announced proudly.

A tiny yellow-orange lovebird hopped from perch to perch in its steel cage, twittering sweetly. Arthur tilted his head for a better look. He was not sure whether to smile at his caged comrade or pity it but, either way, he did not think that he could find the strength to let it go.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Alfred pushed the age into his arms. The gesture was full of such good intent that Arthur winced slightly.

"It's been fifty years since the merger. It's our anniversary so let's celebrate!"

Fifty years? Had it really been that long? But then again centuries passed like seconds for them.

"Why do I have to celebrate something depressing like that?" Arthur his head turned away stubbornly.

"Come on. Just once, won't you wear it with pride?" Alfred held up the flag as he would a coat for him to try on. Soft syllables escaped from his mouth and melted like bubbles.

Arthur smiled.

"Alright. For you."

The words sounded pleasant on his tongue. It sounded like a pretty little lie.

For you.

XX

"_Oranges and lemons say the bells of St Clemens_

_You owe me five farthings say the bells of St Martins._"

The need to hurl his guts up woke Arthur from a pleasant sleep. Alfred was still away at another summit, though that was typical now; Alfred was usually away more often than not. Where was the boy when you ever needed him?

He had no idea why he was feeling sick. His economy had indeed improved since the merger – although it was not really his economy at all – and the riots against the merger had been non-existent for years.

Splashing his face with ice-cold water, Arthur fumbled for a towel – peach with a black spot on the corner – wondering what was wrong with him.

Head rising from the peach folds, he stared at his unchanged reflection in the mirror. Had his face melted yet?

_Ah_, he thought. _I see..._

XX

"_When will you pay me? Say the bells of Old Bailey_

_When I am rich say the bells of Shoreditch,"_

The sound of the key in the lock and footsteps at the front door broke Arthur from his reverie. He had been reminiscing about nights spent roving the seven seas and days spent under the cover of clouds, a blanket of grass supporting his back.

"I'm home!" Alfred's voice resounded through the house and Arthur pushed himself off of his bed, swaying slightly as they world tilted beneath him.

"Welcome back," Arthur met him in the hallway, slightly wobbly on his feet and his cheeks flushed.

"Huh? Arthur, are you sick?" Alfred leaned over him, pressing a hand against his burning forehead.

Arthur chuckled and batted his hand away with a reassuring smile. "Just a little cold."

Alfred frowned. "I'm sorry. I've been so busy..."

"Doesn't matter," he shrugged. He knew that Alfred had a lot of work to do, work that only a fiftieth of belonged to Arthur, and that seemed to be decreasing every day.

XX

If there were such things as revelations in life, Arthur believed that this was one of them.

Back in the days of Kings, when he was still young, before the birth of the Church of England, Francis had told him that with knowledge comes suffering, but after suffering comes acceptance; that was why Mary always looked at peace with herself.

Arthur wondered if after suffering acceptance would come for him too. Or perhaps it had already visited, settling discreetly into his bones without him even noticing.

There was certainly something soaked within his bones, though its feeling was not pleasant.

The lovebird hopped around the perimeter of its cage, head cocking this way and that in confusion. It was not the first one Alfred had given him - that one had died long ago – but Alfred kept replacing them as if he could fool Arthur into thinking that they lived for eternity. This one had no name. It was just 'the lovebird.'

Alfred was gone again. It was too quiet and the odd cheeps from the bird only made the silence swell. Arthur sat on the window seat, pushed his head back against the panes of glass and tried singing along with the lovebird's song.

Pale winter light crossed the floor. Another summer had come and gone, leaving in its wake the bite of frost. Arthur took Alfred's bomber jacket off of the peg and wrapped himself in it. One hand pressed against the cushioned seat, he gently picked up the bird cage with the other and heaved himself off of it; it took more effort than he had anticipated.

Shivering slightly, he paced to the front door; the entrance and exit which would bring or take away Alfred.

Stupid, he thought. That he should miss Alfred only when he was not around, even though he always had a huge headache whenever he was near. Then again, Arthur had not been outside for years, without Alfred he would have probably forgotten that such things as humans and nations existed. It was not that Alfred kept him locked away but he just could not bring himself go outside. How could he? It would make his shame public.

Arthur stared at the door, wondering why it looked so ominous. Since when had he begun to feel so small? So powerless? Gathering his courage, he took off the chain, pulled the handle and stepped outside.

XX

If he could have described the feeling with a word, it would have been 'ah.' Breathe in, breathe out..._ah. _It was not the sound of a satisfied sigh, nor was it the sick sigh of a lovelorn boy, not 'ah, that was good', not 'ah, it's hopeless.' Just ah.

_Ah_.

Like a cat stretching out in the weak sun, starting out strong, tail curling around the almost inaudible h.

_Ahhh_

The air was cold and the sky pale, like a whitewashed canvas on which the barren trees and grey rooftops had been sketched. The gravel at his feet crunched with frost, his breath was white, floating away like clouds into the sky.

Arthur stared above him and thought; 'ah.' Just ah. His mind was blank. His mind was full of everything, and above the silent roar, he thought; 'ah. So that's how it is.'

And he knew. He just knew. And with knowledge came suffering and then acceptance. Did he look calm now? Perhaps he could even fool someone into thinking that he was happy?

Or was he actually happy?

Yes, that was it; he was happy. Living with Alfred, surely he must have been happy all this time; he had just never known it.

"_Oranges and lemons say the bells of St Clemens_

_You owe me five farthings say the bells of St Martins"_

He began to sing with his lovebird, although the sound of their songs was completely out of sync.

It was a song that he had heard a long time ago, perhaps another lifetime even. In that lifetime, had he been happy too?

"_When will you pay me? Say the bells of Old Bailey_

_When I am rich say the bells of Shoreditch"_

Arthur opened the cage and gave it a little, encouraging shake. The lovebird hopped to the entrance, poking its head out warily. Arthur jolted the cage a little and it flew out, spreading its wings into the sky.

He watched it until it disappeared, swallowed up by the white mists of the sky.

"_When will that be? say the bells of Stepney_

_I do not know says the great bell of Bow"_

He wanted to tell Alfred that he was sorry, that, probably, he had really been happy living with him after all. Where was he? Why was he always away?

"_Here comes the candle to light you to bed"_

Wasn't that his car? Yes, Arthur would have recognised it anywhere; it was always too big for Alfred and it made too much noise, it was definitely his car. He took a step forward, closer to the gate he had not crossed for one hundred years since arriving at Alfred's house. He should tell him. He had to tell him now.

"_Here comes the chopper to chop off your head"_

Arthur stretched out his arm and griped the bars of the gate, the bolt was frozen from the cold but he could see Alfred's car in the distance driving down the street towards him.

"_Chip chop chip chop..."_

The car pulled up in front of the drive before Arthur could free the gate bolt and Alfred stepped out. He seemed surprised to see Arthur outside, especially in such weather, and wearing his bomber jacket of all things. That look slowly turned to horror and he began to take long, hurried strides towards him, mouthing something Arthur could not quite hear.

Arthur was slightly hurt. Why could Alfred not look happy, especially now that he had come to apologise? Arthur opened his mouth to say something. He should tell him before...before...

"_...the last man's..."_

...

..........

"._.......Thank you for tuning in to radio five! Aaaaand it's a fabulous day this March! The sun is shining, the weather is clear, and here in the 51__st__ state preparation to celebrate one hundred years since the merger are well underway! _

_Today marks a landmark event in history! Today, all members of the 51__st__ state will lose their dual nationality and gain full American citizenship, making them true blue American citizens. This is a momentous occasion, which marks the unity of America and the willingness of all members of this glorious country to work together for a brighter future! God bless the 51__st__ state! God Bless America!_"


	2. To light you to bed

Here's the second part of Here comes the candle. Alfred's POV.

* * *

To light you to bed

XX

"_Hello and thank you for joining us. Today we are discussing the formation of the 51__st__ state, formally known as the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. This is an unprecedented event; for a country and not even one which is part of the Americas to become a state is truly _- "

Alfred turned off the radio, smashing his fingers against into the buttons so that it crackled and popped, finally whimpering away in a wash of white noise. The driver glared at him but did not turn it on again; he had been given strict order to obey this young man's every whim and, most importantly, to _not_ ask questions.

Nails tapping impatiently against his knee, Alfred watched as they pulled up to Arthur's empty drive and sat there for a moment, head tilted back against the headrest, breathing in and out.

In and out.

In and out.

It was not so hard, was it?

The all too familiar feeling of dread had been sinking into his bones from the moment that he had left his London hotel room to take the three hour drive to Arthur's country house in Warwickshire. By now trepidation had festered in his marrow, breeding anxieties that wormed through his blood stream, through his heart and his lungs so that every beat, every breath, exuded an uncharacteristic unease.

Arthur hated him, he knew. He had to hate him after the way he had shouted - and even stooped to name-calling at their last meeting - when the fate of his country had been sealed. Alfred glanced at the house, at the darkened windows from the passenger seat.

What was he so afraid of?

He was the United States of America; fifty awesome states – fifty-one now – which had the world enthralled. He was young, he was powerful...and yet here he was quivering at the prospect of facing Arthur's wrath.

No, that was wrong. Because Alfred knew that the days of brimstone and hellfire had gone and what had been left in its wake was silent loathing and resentment. What would he do if Arthur looked at him with hatred? Could he muster enough strength not to care?

Sighing once more he opened the door and swung his legs out of the taxi.

Gravel crunched underneath his boots; an abrasive sound that seemed to be shouting at him to leave, it grated his nerves, frayed them to the point of madness. This is not my fault, his mind yelled at the coloured pebbles. I did this for Arthur, to save him. Because his brothers are gone. Because there is no other way. It's not my fault. Don't blame me!

Don't blame me.

Don't hate me.

I did this for him.

He lifted his hand and knocked against the wood. He had always prided himself on having a sturdy knock, though this time he wondered if he had put a little too much force into it, if Arthur would think that he had come to break down his door and drag him away.

When there was no answer, he let go of the breath he had been subconsciously holding. This was wrong. Why was he frowning? He rubbed his cold checks with his hands until they were glowing red, trying to stimulate the muscles into his mouth so that they would stop insisting on frowning. Come on, Alfred, smile, smile.

The door opened.

"Arthur!" he waved, grinning from ear to ear.

Over Arthur's shoulder, Alfred could see the empty hallway leading into what had once been the living room. Before guilt could attack him, he quickly averted his eyes to Arthur's tired, messy appearance.

"I've come to pick you up, Arthur!" he forced a smile. Ah, a suitcase! He was saved! "Let me get that for you," he cried, almost lurching forward in his desperation to grab Arthur's travelling trunk. Anything so that he did not have to look at the empty spaces between the walls of the house, of the empty spaces deep within Arthur's eyes.

He did not even hear his own words as they poured forth in a rush to cover up the silence. He was probably aware of how foolish he sounded as he chattered away, talking about a future that he had no idea about.

"I know you have your reservations and stuff but I've had the house extended and the stuff you sent ahead has already arrived. I decorated the new rooms to your taste. You'll love it, trust me," he said as they entered the taxi

Arthur nodded.

"You can work on the garden. I've sort of left the yard in a bit of a state, but you can fix that up right? I've bought a few hundred rose seeds. I know that you love roses."

Another nod.

"You don't have to worry. I'll take care of you. You'll have less work to do and more time to yourself. Isn't that nice?"

Alfred's gaze slid over to the seat next to him. From the moment he had collected Arthur to the long journey in the back seat of the taxi, he had hardly glanced at him. Now he found his masochistic side flaring as his eyes were drawn to survey him.

Arthur was thinner than he remembered; if one could grow so thin in such a short amount of time. He certainly had not been sleeping well for light purple bags encircled the bottom of his eyes, it made Alfred, at the peak of health and feeling as strong as ever, feel slightly awkward next to him.

He wanted to reach out a hand and ruffle that sandy hair, to feel his skin just to make sure that it was still warm. He wanted to run his finger along the soft flesh of his bottom lip to trace the path along his shoulder blades, marvelling at the centuries disguised within a small, human-like body.

But Alfred did none of this, thought of nothing and, without realising at first, Arthur began to hum.

It was a childish song. Wistful almost...and perhaps slightly morbid, but then again Arthur did always have peculiar tastes. It was not like the heavy rock or happy, bubblegum pop that Alfred blared out of the radio when he crossed the freeway at eighty miles. It was an old tune; even he could feel its age somewhere in his bones, and seemed to call for an age that had long been over.

Alfred wanted to ask him how he could sing such a sad song without breaking his own heart.

XX

He had not been lying when he had said that he had fixed the house to Arthur's taste. He had brought in builders in a mad scramble of repainting and re-furnishing the week before Arthur's arrival, clearing away old junk, extending the kitchen so that he would not feel claustrophobic. Now Alfred wondered if all his work had been in vain for Arthur seemed unimpressed with everything that met his gaze.

"It's bigger than I imagined," Arthur's deadpan voice had not a trace of approval or disapproval in it at all; it was totally bereft of opinion.

Alfred sucked in a deep breath. "I can get pretty messy, but I know that you hate clutter."

"So you made the place bigger?"

He shrugged. "This way, there's enough room for both of us _and_ my clutter, right?"

Arthur ventured into the kitchen, running a hand across the white walls like a blind man groping for the way forward and Alfred closed his eyes and thought back to the induction ceremony. He saw Arthur's back and it was draped with the stars and stripes. Alfred breathed out audibly and tried to banish the image but it continued to return with vengeance.

He thought about the fifty-one stars on his new star-spangled banner. He thought of Arthur wrapped in his flag, wrapped up in him, in everything that made him who he was, his skin melting into the flag, converging, becoming one.

Was this what he wanted?

He could almost see it; Arthur chained to him in stars and stripes and then the world, all covered in a blanket of red, white and blue, dotted with stars. The image scared him as much as it enticed him. He was not Ivan; he did not want the world to become one with him but Arthur – Arthur was part of him now and what would happen if Europe followed the trend?

It was a ridiculous thought.

"You are one with me," he whispered, just to see how the words sounded on his tongue. "You are one with me," he tasted the inflexion in the vowels. How strange it all sounded.

"You are one with me."

And Alfred could not decide if he was horribly happy of horribly sad.

XX

Believe in the future and move forwards! – The words of a famous super hero from some comic or other; Marvel, DC or otherwise. Since Alfred was the hero no matter what it only made sense that he should practice the ability to be blindly optimistic.

It was with this hope in mind that Alfred prepared himself for the next world meeting.

"Arthur, I'm going to the world meeting now, alright? If you need anything - "

"Oh no, I'll be fine, just fine," Arthur cut through him tersely. Alfred could hear the loathing on his voice; it made him inwardly wince.

"Arthur..."

"Alfred?" Arthur's gave him an empty smile.

There was a monster inside of him, surging up from the pit of his stomach to his throat, threatening to escape via his mouth; the source of all misfortune. Alfred struggled to keep the beast at bay but it was a futile effort. What was he yelling? What was Arthur yelling back? He ripped the new map of the world from Arthur's accusing hands, shredding it to pieces with more maliciousness than he had ever felt since the revolutionary war.

How could Arthur be ashamed? How dare he? He was now part of the richest, most powerful country in the world. How could he possibly be ashamed?

Alfred's fists clenched, nails biting into skin, digging into pink flesh until he almost drew blood.

Unfair. Unfair. How could Arthur be so cruel?

"You're just bitter even though it was your stupidity that got you into this recession mess in the first place!"

Unfair. Unfair Why the hell should he be forced to feel bad about things that were not even his fault? This was his boss' decision not his, so how could Arthur blame _him_? It was so unfair. So gut-wrenchingly cruel.

"But you're loving it, aren't you?" Arthur hissed.

How could he be so ungrateful? So selfish? Alfred wanted to wrap his fingers around that thin neck and snap it in two.

"You would have died if not for me! You would have passed away just like your brothers! I saved you!"

How could he be so unfair?

"Better to die with honour than to be a poodle to America!"

"Then die! See if I care!" Alfred slammed the door shut, almost tearing it off of its hinges. He stormed down the drive, trying to fight back the urge to do something dangerous, something that he would surely regret. Inside him hatred churned with guilt; a bitter concoction that would not settle at the bottom of his belly but kept rising to his throat, making him feel dizzy and sick.

He hated Arthur. He had done so much for him, he had extended a hand to save him and yet all he had received in reward was abuse, accusations and mistrust.

Why could he not be happy? Alfred wanted to grab him by his shoulders and demand to know just why he was not happy. Was he locking him away? Was he being overbearing? Neglectful? Cruel? Abusive? No. So then why...

Why...

XX

"America. America!" Kiku's voice shook him out of the reverie another boring world meeting had sunk him into. He glanced questioningly at Kiku who smiled back faintly. Alfred was not sure if his gut agreed to that smile. Everything pleasant seemed to mock the current situation at his house.

"How is England...or should I call him the 51st state now? I haven't seen him lately."

Of course you have not seen him, he thought, it's not as if he can come to these things anymore.

"Please let him know that, though he may not be a country anymore, he is still welcome to visit me at any time," Kiku said, sliding his business card cross the table.

"I will," he lied, tucking the card into his breast pocket, a place from which it would never see the light of day. Did Kiku not laugh at Arthur? Did he not think him pathetic for being reduced to a state? Or perhaps he sympathised with Arthur and secretly hated the one who had made him part of America.

Alfred's hands clenched. There were so many nations in the world meeting and yet none of them understood. None of them could understand, because Alfred could barely make sense of it himself. It was as if he had hit a brick wall. He did not know how to go forward with Arthur and there was no turning back.

XX

That night Alfred parked his car along the drive and sat there for a good fifteen minutes, head resting against his white knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel.

"Stupid, stupid..." he berated himself.

This was ridiculous. Since when had he been afraid of walking into his house? But living with Arthur was more painful than he could have imagined.

They were both victims. Victims of what? Alfred wanted something to blame but was not sure where he should turn. They were victims...of everything. Of fate, of the time, of the economy, of their governments, and now they were suffering for something that was not their fault. He was suffering. Arthur was suffering.

Eventually, he managed to crawl out of the car and into the house. All of the rooms were eerily quiet and the moonlight gave birth to strange spectres that danced along the passageways.

Shaking off his fears, Alfred pulled himself up the stairs to his room. However he paused in front of what was now Arthur's bedroom; the door had been left slightly ajar and from within he could hear sounds of shuffling.

He hesitated to enter. What would he say? Suddenly, Alfred wished that he could just burst in with unreserved shame and tell Arthur how scary it was to be in such a big house with all the lights turned off, that he was terrified of the shadows playing on the wall and that he wanted to sleep with him, safe in his warm bed where the closet monsters and the ghouls that lived under his bed could not prey on his mind.

He wanted to tell Arthur how scared he was of the dark, and how terrified he was of the light, of the future that was uncertain, of the past that was tormenting him, of everything.

Ah, but that was impossible now. Alfred was in charge of Arthur now, he had to be the strong one, the pillar of strength on which Arthur, as a state was supposed to lean on for courage and guidance. Their halcyon days were over.

Slowly, Alfred pushed the door open and slipped inside the room.

"Look, I'm sorry okay!" he cried the instant he had stepped inside. Throwing off his tie and throwing himself into the vast lands of Arthur's double bed, he arranged himself with his back turned to Arthur, refusing to look him in the eye, "I didn't mean it when I told you to die. I...don't really want you to die," he whispered.

Arthur did not reply but pressed their backs together as if to say 'I am here'. The warmth from Arthur's back was a soothing balm for Alfred's frayed nerves. Tilting his head towards the ceiling, he closed his eyes and prayed to the God in the shadows to stop time just for this moment, just for this second so that he could sink into the peace of silence.

"I hate you. Even though it's not your fault, I really, really hate you," Arthur's trembling voice rent through the quivering air. Alfred stiffened upon hearing those fatal words.

Yet it was strange. As much as he had dreaded hearing those words, once they were out it was almost a relief. Yes, he thought. You hate me. You must hate me. Alfred sighed and relaxed all the tense muscles in his back.

"...That's fine."

_God, if you exist, please take us somewhere far away._

Arthur drew his legs up to his chest and Alfred had never wanted so much to spin around and throw himself at him, to shower him kisses as if he could gobble up all the sadness, all the hatred that was infecting the air.

But he did not kiss Arthur. He did not even move. The darkness had him, binding him to that one place with its inky fingers.

"I mean it. I hate you," Arthur's pained voice continued.

Alfred sighed. He yearned to disappear into a place where nothing existed but the two of them. Somewhere sunny would be nice, somewhere warm and sandy where he could press his ear to the cool earth and listen to the world spin without any worries, where nothing in the world touched them but a forgiving breeze that blew through the green trees.

"Then hate me, Arthur. Just don't die."

_God, if you exist, please take the both of us somewhere far, far away._

XX

Alfred was at another meeting, tapping his fingers discreetly against the underside of the conference table as he listened to the lazy drone of discussion.

"And another thing, this current fifty-first state is a joke!"

Alfred's head perked up at the mention of Arthur. He scowled at the current speaker; a balding man in a midnight blue suit that hung like a tent from his thin shoulders.

"A British-American citizenship? These people are American now, why should they be allowed to hold a dual nationality that is essentially defunct?" the man continued, failing to notice Alfred's glare intensify.

"Most of the citizens of the fifty-first state were originally British. To take away the recognition of that would be like erasing their roots! You can't take away their history, their culture!" Alfred jumped to his feet, knocking his coffee onto his neighbour, who likewise jumped to his feet in alarm.

"All this serves for is to divide the people of the fifty-first state and the rest of America even more!" the speaker returned.

"But!" Alfred's hands curled into fists. But what about Arthur?

XX

Alfred woke to the sound of his radio alarm and an obscenely cheerful voice reporting the news in a heavy New York accent.

"_The mayor has announced that a giant four-tier cake will be built on the common in celebration of fifty years since the merger. As you can hear, everyone's quite excited, and naturally - _"

He shut the radio up with a quick hand-chop over the snooze button. However, instead of turning back into the comfortable paradise of warm blankets and white sheets, Alfred threw off his sanctuary.

Fifty years was a long time, a life time some would say. The cool spring air made the hairs on his arms rise but the sunlight beaming through his window was so intense even the shadows were quelled beneath it. Apple blossom was beginning to bloom on the tree and the birds were slowly returning to their abandoned nests.

Pushing open his bedroom window, Alfred stuck his head outside and inhaled the fresh air.

It felt as if something was about to be born, as if the sun had woken from its slumber and the world was about to resume its course. Light flooded into Alfred as well, filling him with a sense of energy that had previously been drained from him. He felt stronger, healthier and more powerful than ever, yet with them came unease.

Spring was the time of change, but would this change be for the better he wondered.

XX

"Are you interested in buying a dog, mister?"

Hands thrust into the deep recesses of his pockets, Alfred glanced around the cramped pet shop with a nonchalant air. He had been watching the puppies clamber over each other, nipping playfully at their ears and tails and they innocently played without a care or a thought that one day they would be taken away from each other. His eyes travelled over the cages full of rodents; rabbits, rats, hamsters and gerbils scampering up metal ladders, and tanks of fish lazily swimming by.

The shop assistant looked up to hanging from the ceiling. A great number of brightly coloured birds fluttered against the bars of their cages, cheeping loudly. The man followed Alfred's line of sight to a cage full of bright orange-yellow birds singing sweetly amongst their neighbour's disordered chirping.

"Ah, those are our lovebirds. Pretty, aren't they? I've been telling the owner to buy a bigger cage for them but he just says; 'They're always singing so they must be just fine.' Honestly, how hard is it to figure out that lovebirds sing no matter what?"

"I'll take one."

The assistant smiled, taking him for a man who knew nothing about animals, which he supposed was somewhat true. "Just one? Lovebirds are social creatures, mister. They don't like being alone," the assistant said.

Alfred turned to him with a faint smile.

"Don't worry. It won't be alone."

Two little lovebirds in a cage.

XX

"Arthur!"

"What?" Arthur lifted his head from the sofa to glare at him irritably. Alfred beamed; it was almost as if they had travelled back into happier times.

Like an excited child Alfred removed the fifty-one star flag covering his sincere anniversary present.

"It's been fifty years since the merger. It's our anniversary so let's celebrate!"

"Why do I have to celebrate something depressing like that?" Arthur grumbled, eyeing the lovebird as though it were a secret bomb about to explode in his face.

Alfred's face fell for a microsecond before he heroically managed to pull a smile back onto his face. He was not blind, and neither was he stupid; Alfred knew that Arthur still resented him despite the years that passed. His citizens had almost forgotten the days when they had been a separate country and the riots against him had diminished but Arthur was different. Arthur never forgot and because he could not let go of his days spent travelling the seven seas, of golden ballrooms and majestic parades, he could never forgive.

When Arthur gripped the flag and pulled it over his shoulders, Alfred knew that he was not forgiven.

"Alright. For you," he said while his eyes mockingly cried; For you. All for my hatred of you.

And something inside Alfred felt as though it was going to break. He could not take this anymore, this pathetic contempt. His fingers found their way into the loose folds of Arthur's half-buttoned shirt - he never dressed smartly anymore, what was the point? – and pulled him forward, smashing their mouths together with such desperation that they could hardly breathe.

Hands raking over skin, through hair, over lips, and closed eyelids wet with tears. Falling down, falling down. It felt as if he were spiralling downwards, frantically grasping for a light, for a foothold, for anything to keep his head above water. He pushed Arthur against the couch, desperate to overcome their emotional barriers by superseding the physical ones.

Don't hate me. Be happy. Smile for me. Smile. Smile. Laugh. Laugh until you cry.

Groaning, hot kisses fluttering over sweat-stained skin, clothes thrown aside, fingers sliding across flesh and through hair; each thrust was a desperate plea.

Don't hate me. Be happy. Smile for me. Smile. Smile. Laugh. Laugh until you cry. Cry until you laugh.

And God – God would surely take them away, take them somewhere far away where states and countries and power play were obsolete notions. If such a thing as 'God' existed then surely – surely –

And Alfred's arms folded across Arthur's back, and Arthur clung to him, skin pressed against skin, hating him, hating him, hating him more than ever.

Or perhaps it was love.

XX

Darkness slid over beige walls, groggily Alfred's eyes fluttered open to a dark world, to shadows conspiring in corners and the sound of sofa cushions squeaking softly.

He could blearily make out Arthur naked body squeezing out from where he had been trapped between the back of the sofa and Alfred. He closed his eyes as Arthur turned towards him, letting his own exhaustion carry him away.

A warm body leant over him yet he did not stir. Even as soft hands pressed themselves against his chest Alfred kept his eyes closed and pretended to sleep, pretended to imagine that they were normal people resting in the afterglow. Cold hands touched his cheeks in a gesture Alfred could almost call loving, before sliding down to wrap themselves around his throat.

It was not surprise that Alfred felt at the slight weight of those fingers against his windpipe. It was not alarm. It was not fear or hatred. He even surprised himself with the vast, empty calm that settled in his bones as he lay there, completely still, feigning sleep.

Ah, so I am going to die, he absently thought, and he had no desire to move. He did not know why he was not more alarmed. He could easily throw Arthur off of him. He could even kill him if he wanted.

Arthur's fingers tightened just a little, enough to constrict the amount of air going through Alfred's windpipe. Alfred kept his eyes stubbornly closed even as he felt those hands shake and tighten, almost crushing him, even when, all of a sudden, they realised their hold on him, darting away as though they had been stung.

Alfred kept his body still while his heart suddenly thundered in his chest, but it was not because he had almost come within an inch of death that his heart was shaking; it was because he was sure that, in the darkness, he could hear Arthur's tears.

_God, if you exist...._

XX

They never did anything after that one night. They hardly touched, let alone reached the heart-wrenching intensity of that one night. Alfred pretended he had never known how close he came to being strangled to death and Arthur never seemed realise that he knew.

Their days passed like droplets dripping from the stalks of grass after a storm; a slow, diligent plod that crawled by day after day.

Alfred continued to attend the normal meetings without Arthur by his side and Arthur continued to remain as a recluse within Alfred's home. He had no idea what Arthur did to amuse himself during the long hours that he was away, though Alfred always made sure to replace the lovebirds as they died so that Arthur did not have to be completely alone.

He wondered if Arthur appreciated his efforts. He wished that once, just once, Arthur would smile at him for it.

After another world meeting had ended, Alfred returned home to the surprising smell of scones and vegetable casserole.

"How was the meeting?" Arthur asked, looking slightly flushed.

Alfred had to swallow his surprise before he could answer.

"I made you dinner," Arthur said. "Since you've been having nothing but burgers lately, it's all vegetarian. Eat it."

And he smiled faintly. Perhaps it was not a happy smile, or even a content smile, but to Alfred it was a smile nevertheless. He wished that Arthur would not make that kind of face. He looked at the steaming casserole bowl and wished that Arthur would not do these sorts of things. If he continued this way, Alfred might actually think that he was happy.

XX

"What do you mean you're going to take away their dual nationality?!" Alfred's outraged cry brought all eyes at the meeting towards him.

The solemn and grim faces around the meeting room told him that the matter had already been decided. Alfred slammed his fists into the table, almost splitting the wood in half, but even the strength he had to do that wrenched his heart apart with guilt. He knew where that strength was coming from now.

"I won't accept this!" he cried. "I order you to take back the issue to give members of the fifty-first state full American nationality!"

"It's been decided. You can't recall it. The plan is already in motion."

"Without my permission!" he cried, ready to fling something hot and painful into the speaker's face.

"It has been decided."

Alfred gritted his teeth in an attempt to restrain himself. Damn these humans! Damn them for doing whatever the hell they liked, thinking of no one but themselves!

"Who do you think I am, old man?! _I'm_ the United states of America, what _I _say - "

"America," his president's sombre voice cut through him. He looked grimly at him, matching their stares. Alfred's eyes silently pleaded with his boss, with the one man who knew just how much he had wanted to save Arthur. However, that man also betrayed him as he shook his head apologetically. "America. Alfred...aren't you a country of democracy? And the democratic majority has decided..."

Alfred blanked out the words after that point. He thought that he heard despair for the first time; it was the sound of static when a radio cuts out, it was the sound of the wind as the blade of a guillotine fell, it was a soft whisper of one blowing out a candle at night.

XX

Before Alfred knew it he was back in his car, going eighty on a sixty miles per hour motorway and hardly caring. His hands tightened around the steering wheel, his fingers tap, tapping against the plastic until even he was irritated at the sound.

He was not stupid, of course not, even he could see that Arthur was getting weaker every day and it was not because his economy was in bad shape or his cities in ruins.

Alfred glared at his face in the rear-view mirror. This was his fault; he was eating up Arthur's strength, taking it for himself. Each moment of health and power was a stab to his heart. How could he stop it? How could he stop himself from doing this? He had thought that the merger would save Arthur but instead it was doing the exact opposite of what he had wished.

He saw it now; how stupid he had been. Arthur had every right to hate him. _He_ hated himself.

How could he have been so stupid...so arrogant?

But he was a hero, wasn't he? He could fix this. Of course he could. He could fix everything.

As he approached the house, he noticed that something was amiss. There was someone standing at the gate, struggling to get the frozen bolt undone. A minute later, Alfred was close enough to see that it was Arthur, though surely that could not be right. Arthur had not stepped outside for a century. Why would he start now?

Pulling up along the drive, Alfred jumped up and was met with another surprise. He had not noticed it before but was hat not his bomber jacket wrapped around Arthur's shoulders? Why was he...

And then it hit Alfred like a bullet of ice straight to the heart.

_God, if you exist...._

But what was the use of praying?

Their eyes met in the same moment, travelling across the icy lawn to meet each other. Alfred lurched forward, his hand stretched out to grab hold of Arthur's shoulders. His boots crunched against the frost and snow, cold shot up his legs, almost paralysing him.

_God, if you exist, please take us somewhere far away._

"Arthur!"

Alfred was on the lawn now, mere steps away from where Arthur stood. His heart jumped to his throat, hammering painfully against his windpipe. He knew what was happening. He had known it all along, but he had never expected it to be so sudden, so cruel.

Arthur turned towards him. The empty birdcage in his hand dropped from his grip and rolled over the crisp grass, the open door creaking on its hinges.

Pink lips parting, breath escaping like white ghosts sent from the soul, Arthur's mouth moved as though about to speak but no sound escaped. He gripped the sides of Alfred's jacket closer, protecting himself from the cold as his eyes fluttered and closed and –

And...

_God, if you exist, please, please take us both somewhere far away._

Alfred caught him just as Arthur began to fall but even the comforting feeling of his weight pressed against Alfred's arms was soon robbed from him as well, and all that remained in his arms was his bomber jacket, slightly damp from the snow.

Was this the sound of despair? Just silence, heavy, oppressive silence that squeezed itself around his heart and lungs.

But he was not sad. He was not sad, he told himself. No, he was happy. Happy, happy, happy with a capital H. Yes, he was happy. Because Arthur had always hated him anyway. Because they had done nothing but be burdens upon each other; reflections of guilt that neither had wanted to see.

So he was happy.

Yes, happy.

Look, he was happy. He was laughing.

Look, he was so happy he laughed until he cried.

And Alfred lifted a hand to his throat and tried to breathe but it was no good. He struggled and wheezed for breath but it was no good. He could not breathe, he could not breathe. His fists clenched around his jacket and he hugged it close, burying his nose and mouth into its back.

Happy, he told himself. Happy...happy...happy....

_Oh God,_ his heart was pounding._ Oh God, please, please..._

In the end, he could not do anything for him. In the end, hadn't Arthur hated him more than anything else in the world?

_If you exist, take us far away..._

Alfred closed his eyes and sank into the thin snow with his jacket pressed to his face.

_...far, far away..._

_...To a place where we can press our ears to the earth and listen to the world spinning on without us._

_XX_


End file.
